Dancer on the Glass
by Min Daae
Summary: So close, but still so far. It's a rare moment of silence and peace for Daemon in Chaillot. DaemonJaenelle angstfluff.


It was a rare moment of silence for Daemon, alone in the library. Alexandra and Leland had gone into town with Phillip and the girls, and Bobby was also off somewhere, thank the Darkness. But that also meant that Jaenelle was gone, and hence the book open in his lap was only a pretense as he sat and drank in the dark psychic scent of her and wished –

He jolted upright with a growl. Something had touched his shoulder. A whisper of wind blew through the window. The room was utterly silent. He settled back with a sigh, golden eyes slightly narrowed. This place…

Someone tapped his shoulder. His head swiveled around and promptly his other shoulder was tapped. He surged to his feet with a snarl, casting about, his golden eyes chilly. But his keen ears caught a sound at the same moment that a tantalizing brush against his mind set nerves taut and tense. A silvery giggle and that psychic scent, so very, very dark.

The golden eyes changed and a slight smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Bending down, Daemon picked up the book, folded a page slowly, and waited. This time, straining his ears, he heard the soft whisper of sound the moment before someone tweaked his nose and his ears and then vanished with a few more notes of laughter. Look appropriately indignant, Daemon stalked to the middle of the room, hands on his hips, staring about with narrowed eyes, his every sense straining for her next approach.

He can hear a soft laugh and another brush of her mind, and a moment later he wheeled and snatched at apparently empty air. Jaenelle yelped in surprise and appeared abruptly, flailing as Daemon scooped her up to eye level and gave her a raised eyebrow stare.

"Well. Look what I've found running about."

Jaenelle scowled at him, and Daemon's answering laugh was low and rich. She pushed at his chest. "Let me go, Prince," she said imperiously, but he could see the laughter in her bright blue eyes.

He tweaked her nose playfully. "Nuh uh. Not until I get an explanation for why you're here when I saw you leave just a bit ago."

She made a face. "I didn't want to go. _You _didn't go."

"I'm not a family member," Daemon commented dryly.

Jaenelle treated him to a stern frown. "I didn't want to go, so I didn't," she repeated. A little bitterness crept into her voice. "They won't notice the different anyway."

Daemon gave her a long look, then ruffled her hair. "Well. There goes my quiet evening, I guess. When did you learn that little trick?"

"The shadows?"

"No, the other one."

"Oh, this one?" And abruptly he was holding a very solid bundle of air. Daemon yelped and tightened his arms, but she flickered back into view in only a moment and grinned at him. "It's not hard," she says. "I just kind of pluck the threads and weave myself out of them. Like covering me with a rug."

Daemon stared at her. "You do _what?_"

She gives him a narrow-eyed look. "Am I doing it wrong?"

"-not wrong, just…rather differently than most people."

She looks excited. "Will you teach me the normal way?"

Daemon gives her a stern look. "Only if you make a very serious promise."

Jaenelle looks back at him, eyes wide. "What?"

"You'll do something fun with me afterward."

Jaenelle giggles. "Of course I will, silly. I would have anyway. Now put me down and teach me how to make things invisible your way."

She picked up on the sight shield in a few moments, and from there they moved on to auditory shields. Once she had mastered that he breathed a sigh of relief and gave her a look. Jaenelle's face was shining and bright, her eyes thrilled.

"All right," he said quickly, a little worried about the calculating look in her eyes. "Time for the fun, okay?"

She bounced on her toes. "What kind of fun?"

"That's up to you, dear. Preferably something that doesn't involve bodily injury, though."

She pondered for a few moments. Then her face colors and she begins shuffling her feet. "Daemon? I had an idea – but you can say no if you want to – it's just an idea," she finishes in a mutter, her face bright red.

Intrigued but a little nervous, Daemon tilted his head. "Yes?"

"-will you dance with me?"

He threw back his head and laughed. Then, realizing that she might misinterpret it, he looked back at her and bowed low, offering a hand. "Certainly, Lady. I never pass up an opportunity to dance with a Lady."

Jaenelle blushed, rather copiously, and set her small, pale hand in his. "I'm not a Lady yet."

Daemon kissed the top of her hand lightly and allowed himself to meet her eyes, those glorious, far too old eyes. "As far as I'm concerned, you were a Lady the moment you took your first breath. Lady Jaenelle."

"Hush," She said firmly, and tugged him in the direction of the dancing room. "You're embarrassing me."

"A Prince's first duty to his Lady," Daemon quipped, and she turned around and gave him a very curious look. It was only then that he realized what he had said. His Lady.

He opened his mouth to apologize, but Jaenelle beat him to it.

"And it's a Lady's duty to remind her Prince that he _said _they were going to dance."

"Right you are, Lady." He said, after a brief pause, and allowed himself to be tugged again. It was only when they reached the ballroom by a route that involved more than a few twists and turns that she paused, and frowned.

"What are we going to do for music?"

"I'll take care of that," Daemon informed her, amused. "Do you have a favorite dance?"

She pondered. "You pick."

"All right." It took him only a moment to key in the spell, and the notes began playing eerily out of nowhere, the first steps to a very old court dance. "Do you know this one?"

Jaenelle was tilting her head, listening closely. "I…think so," she said hesitantly. "Correct me if I'm dancing wrong, though, I could be thinking of a different one."

Daemon blinked at her, startled, then recovered. She was, after all Jaenelle. He had to expect to be surprised. "I'm sure you'll be fine, Lady."

She laughed and moved, setting a hand against his raised palm and resting her other hand on his shoulder, though she had to strain to reach. He tried his best not to laugh, but from the dirty look she briefly shot him, he didn't manage to keep his amusement from her.

"One, two, three," she said primly, and started dancing.

It was the right dance, though the way she danced it was not like anyone else he'd ever seen. It was faster in some places, slower in others. Going through the same motions, Jaenelle was nonetheless far more graceful than any other witch he could have imagined or had seen, gliding across the floor with such fluidity that all he could do was follow, their hands barely touching, her hand on his shoulder cool even through his jacket. He kept his hands loose, not holding her down, trying not to touch her, afraid of frightening her, but when his hand touched her waist briefly, she didn't even flinch, just kept dancing, her lips moving slightly to keep the beat and her eyes focused on her feet, looking up at him only every so often and giving him a shy smile. She was such a delight to watch that he almost wished he could step out of himself and see the two of them moving across the floor – or just watch her dance alone.

He barely registered the soft noise intruding on their moments, but she did. She stumbled and stopped, feet dragging clumsily to a half, looking towards the door. A wind blew through the room, toying with Daemon's trousers and a wisp of Jaenelle's golden hair. He could see her eyes, suddenly deep sapphire and very far away, and full of unhappiness. "Oh," she murmured softly, and then turned to Daemon. She curtseyed, hardly wobbling at all, her eyes once more lowered self-consciously to the floor, retreating back into herself.

"I'm sorry, Prince. This has been lovely."

"Wait," he said, feeling childishly abandoned. "What's the matter?"

He heard it; the slam of a door, the grating tones of Robert Benedict's voice intruding in the peace of their dance floor. He turned back to look at Jaenelle, but she wasn't looking at him, hardly even seemed to know he was there.

"Lady," he began, and she vanished without a sound. He closed his mouth and eyes and breathed deeply through his nose. His Queen was gone again.

He stayed in the ballroom for a long while, the tune still playing softly, like an abandoned wind. Daemon listened to something else entirely, breathing deeply of her psychic scent full of unusual joy that still played in echoes through the room.


End file.
